#IrishWriters #Victorian
Now when the darkness came over th… having lighted a torch of pinewood… the valley. For he had business in… And kneeling on the flint stones o… a young man who was naked and weep…
Seven stars in the still water, And seven in the sky; Seven sins on the King’s daughter… Deep in her soul to lie. Red roses are at her feet,
AS one who poring on a Grecian ur… Scans the fair shapes some Attic… God with slim goddess, goodly man… And for their beauty’s sake is lot… And face the obvious day, must I…
Under the rose—tree’s dancing shad… There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pea… With pale green nails of polished… The red leaves fall upon the mould…
Could we dig up this long—buried t… Were it worth the pleasure, We never could learn love’s song, We are parted too long. Could the passionate past that is…
DEAR Heart I think the young im… When first he takes from out the h… His God imprisoned in the Euchari… And eats the bread, and drinks the… Feels not such awful wonder as I…
TO stab my youth with desperate k… This paltry age’s gaudy livery, To let each base hand filch my tre… To mesh my soul within a woman’s h… And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed gr…
NAY, let us walk from fire unto f… From passionate pain to deadlier d… I am too young to live without des… Too young art thou to waste this s… Asking those idle questions which…
THERE was a time in Europe long… When no man died for freedom anywh… But England’s lion leaping from i… Laid hands on the oppressor! it wa… While England could a great Repub…
The sea was sapphire coloured, and… Burned like a heated opal through… We hoisted sail; the wind was blow… For the blue lands that to the eas… From the steep prow I marked with…
THE sea is flecked with bars of g… The dull dead wind is out of tune, And like a withered leaf the moon Is blown across the stormy bay. Etched clear upon the pallid sand
This winter air is keen and cold, And keen and cold this winter sun, But round my chair the children ru… Like little things of dancing gold… Sometimes about the painted kiosk
OFT have we trod the vales of Ca… And heard sweet notes of sylvan mu… From antique reeds to common folk… And often launched our bark upon t… Which the nine Muses hold in empe…
O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rai… The crashing down of forest trees.… O well for him who ne’er hath know…
MILTON! I think thy spirit hath… From these white cliffs, and high-… This gorgeous fiery-coloured world… Seems fallen into ashes dull and g… And the age changed unto a mimic p…